At Water's Edge_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘There is no such thing, my dear,’ the librarian states with a strained smile.

  ‘Do you have any similar sorts of sections I can rummage through?’ Lexovia offers. ‘Maybe in the back?’

  ‘There is no such thing,’ the librarian insists evenly, her tone no longer jovial. Lexovia opens her mouth but is cut off. ‘No. Such. Thing.’ The librarian peers at her as if now noticing the peculiar shade of her eyes.

  Sensing the change of atmosphere, Lexovia nods. ‘Of course not.’ She backs towards the door. ‘Well, sorry for wasting your time.’ She hurries outside and races off, feeling the librarian’s stare burrowing into her until she is at last out of sight.

  Feeling frustrated and beaten, Lexovia storms into the school residence, kicks off her boots, not caring when they crash into the lamp, and tosses her coat and hat on the floor. Not bothering to change her clothes, she dives onto the bed and within minute’s falls asleep.

  She is standing outside in the cold. Something creaks in an ominous wind and looking up, she spies a sign hanging from chains, swinging over a chipped wooden door. The words ‘Feranvil farm bar & grill’ have been scrawled on it with a piece of chalk. Pushing on the door, Lexovia is met with a wave of lively music and high spirits. The bar is a good size, everything made from hazel wood, and it appears to be a barn conversion, judging by the thick beams at intervals. In the far corner, by a rectangular box – the source of the music – a gang of merry girls are dancing, kicking their legs and tapping their feet in unison, whilst what appears to be their partners clap and cheer them on.

  Someone tugs on Lexovia’s arm and she finds herself being directed to the bar where a jolly looking woman with long golden curls is twirling bottles and pouring shots.

  ‘What did I tell you about waltzing in the front door?’ the woman scolds whoever Lexovia is with. ‘You’ve three months ‘til your eighteenth, and it’s not the holidays either.’

  ‘NEVER!’ The laughs of an elderly gentleman draws Lexovia’s gaze to the dance floor where a few gushing women try to drag a man from his seat. Lexovia is amazed. Everyone appears to be laughing, or singing or dancing or flirting, either way, they are definitely having a good time. Not one is aware of a girl amongst them who has never before been to their side.

  All goes black. The jolly, curly haired woman is now standing by a sink in a much quieter room, though Lexovia cannot make out any details. The woman’s arms are folded and she looks quite distressed as she addresses Lexovia.

  ‘This is exactly why youngsters like you shouldn’t go meddlin’ with the portal. It’s too risky and things like this happen.’

  Lexovia’s eyes shoot open and she is almost giddy from her premonition. Rolling over, she grabs the phone on the bedside table and punches in the sequence of numbers Nathaniel told her to use if she needed to reach him.

  ‘Hello?’ she queries when she hears him answer. ‘What can you tell me about Feranvil Farm?’

  As the conversation progresses, Lexovia goes from giddy to grave.

  ‘What is Google?’ and her forehead crumples as she waits for Nathaniel to explain. ‘So, you did this Google thing and found nothing? It’s nowhere?’ She listens. ‘Alright. I suppose. Thanks.’

  Sighing, Lexovia hangs up the phone and flops back onto her pillow, defeated.

  Twigs snap as Lexovia’s feet trample over them. Shoulders slumped, she carefully considers her plan of action as she heads for Sanifud College, a short walk from the dormitory. According to her premonition, she needs to find somewhere called ‘Feranvil Farm Bar and Grill’, however, it seems like this place is and wants to remain unfound.

  No wonder. She scowls as she recalls her run-in with the librarian.

  Lexovia’s wandering thoughts are slowly penetrated by the niggling feeling that she is being watched. Looking over her shoulder, she sees a strange boy in a coat, much too large for him, watching her, his hands deep in his pockets. He has stopped whatever it was he was doing and simply stares from beneath his hood.

  Lexovia stares back. He does not move. Shaking her head, she walks on. Peculiar Lad follows after her. She stops, pretending to remove something from the bottom of her shoe. He stops and waits. Sighing, she continues on; Peculiar Lad does the same.

  ‘Why are you following me?’ Lexovia snaps as they near the school building.

  Peculiar Lad shrugs carelessly. ‘I am intrigued, that’s all.’

  ‘Intrigued?’

  ‘Aye. There is something different about you today.’

  ‘Different?’ Lexovia is baffled.

  ‘Yes.’ Peculiar Lad nods to himself. ‘Profoundly different.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lexovia tuts. ‘I had a little makeover. It’s not that interesting.’

  ‘No,’ he states thoughtfully, ‘what appears on the outside can change as drastically as night to day. One’s appearance on the inside, though, is not so easily altered.’ He tilts his head to the side as he studies her. ‘The change I see is on the inside, and that is very interesting.’

  Lexovia averts her gaze, trying to appear disinterested. ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ she states and heads for the school door.

  ‘Perhaps you have already told me,’ he muses as he follows her.

  Lexovia scoffs loudly but can’t shake the feeling that this boy may actually know what he is talking about.

  ‘Allow me.’ Peculiar Lad strides in front and opens the door, though he doesn’t move out of her way. ‘After you,’ his eyes survey her once more, ‘Dezaray.’

  At last he steps aside. Willing herself to stay steadfast, Lexovia nods curtly and makes her way in.

  Reading the signs and following the arrows, she finds her carpentry class, scanning the room for some evidence of where Dezaray might normally sit.

  ‘The rocking chair.’ Peculiar Lad murmurs as he comes up behind her. Lexovia is about to retaliate but when she turns he has already made his way to his own desk and sat down. Lexovia exhales and notices a workstation with a partially completed rocking chair perched on it. Thankfully, it is the only one. She heads over, tosses her rucksack on the floor and slouches down in the seat.

  TEN PER CENT

  The next morning, I easily cease the crunching of the alarm with a wave of my hand, sighing as I roll back over. It’s Saturday; the first Saturday of many where I don’t have the swelling fear of what Drake might do to me when he gets home. I cuddle the pillow as the first true spasm of happiness grips me. He can’t hurt me here. I know there is a trace of a smile on my lips as I drift back off to sleep.

  The pain, the shock, the cold hit me like a wall of ice. I splutter, my mind too dizzy, too blind to focus. I’m wet, I’m shaking and I smell vanilla – Milo.

  ‘Fly!’ I hear him growl and before I can react I feel an odd sensation. My mind, though whirling with confusion and unanswered questions, still hears the command and obeys. I feel lighter yet weighed down. The touch of the bed beneath me evaporates and my arms seem heavy as they hang at my sides. It all happens so fast. I am still coughing and snorting water from my nose when I look to one side and see him smiling at me. A fraction of a second later, I realise he’s standing which means I’m…floating. Looking over my shoulder, I see the bed I was just sleeping on a fair distance below with a me-shaped puddle seeping into it.

  I scream, though I’m not sure if out loud or in my mind, and then bam, I come crashing down onto the soggy mattress. My heart pounds, the room quakes and my brain is still one step behind me.

  ‘Good morning.’ Milo purrs, his voice like syrup.

  ‘What the heck is wrong with you?’ I shriek, scrambling out of bed and pummelling him repeatedly with a sopping wet pillow.

  He laughs and shields himself with his arms. ‘You wanted to fly, didn’t you?’

  I’m overcome with too many emotions to name, none of them good and the most vivid one, shock. I continue to wallop him, yelling things like ‘twat’ and ‘how could you’. He just continues to laugh, eventually grabbing the pillow and
tossing it across the room. I go to make a grab for the second one but, seeming to anticipate this, he tackles me. Throwing his arms around my waist, he bashes his head into my chest and pins me to the dresser.

  A moment of panic cripples me. Weak, a voice whispers inside me, my own voice and then my brothers. The word brands my mind like the scorch of a hot poker. I’m about to scream and drive my knee into Milo’s ribs when he presses his mouth to my stomach and blows as hard as he can. Relief rushes through me, washing away the height of my dread and I squeal, smacking him on the back. Play fighting. Play fighting is okay. I can do play fighting.

  ‘Get off me,’ I cry, shakily, the last remnants of fear fading.

  Chuckling, he does but the hint of a sly smile crosses his lips as he meets my eye, and as if we both have the same thought, we dive for the other pillow and go bouncing off the bed, tumbling to the ground in a blur of limbs.

  ‘Ow,’ I moan, rolling onto my back, panting breathlessly and eyeing the collection of dust balls that have gathered under the bed.

  Milo collapses beside me, groaning as he massages the back of his head.

  ‘Truce?’ I wince, rubbing my banged elbow.

  He considers this for a moment then turns his head to face me with a wicked grin. ‘For now.’

  His smile throws my thoughts off track and I do my best to organise them.

  ‘For now, it is,’ I agree. We lay in silence. I feel my leg begin to stretch towards his and realise I have to say something before my body starts doing the talking. I ransack my mind. What was I doing before lying here? I’m blank for a while and then remember. I’d been asleep and he’d tossed a bucket of water at me.

  ‘Why would you wake me up like that?’ I ask, bemused.

  Milo makes a knowing ‘Ah’ sound before propping himself up on one elbow, now animated. ‘Well, there’s a theory behind that. Perhaps you know it.’

  ‘Do tell,’ I tease, mocking his interest and hoping I don’t look too much like a drowned rat.

  ‘The theory is that the only difference between a Coltis and a Corporeal is their brain.’ He touches a finger to my temple and I swallow, trying not to lean into his touch.

  He’s made to break hearts. I remind myself.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s believed that Corporeals only use ten per cent of their brain, whilst the Coltis use seventy five. This heightened element is what allows us to tap into our abilities; well, that and the fact that it helps to be in a world where such things are possible.’

  ‘A world of magic,’ I muse, propping myself up on my elbow and facing him. The strap of my nighty slides down my arm but too preoccupied to fix it, I add, ‘However, I’m still waiting to hear why I was woken with a bucket of ice water.’

  He snickers, making me smile, but I try to remain stern. ‘It’s believed that fear, shock and other such high energy situations allow Corporeals to unlock different parts of their brain.’

  ‘And that was the only thing you could think of?’

  ‘Not the only one.’ Milo considers. ‘But one of the funniest.’

  I go to punch him playfully but stop when he reaches out, hesitant at first, and pulls on my nighty’s fallen strap. My breath hitches. He guides the strap back over my shoulder and my whole arm feels like it’s on fire and for a brief moment, he keeps his hand resting against my neck. I’m now embarrassingly aware of how the wet silk clings to my body, and how the water has made it slightly see-through.

  I fidget, anxiously searching my mind for words that will form a sentence. Stupid ten per cent!

  ‘You’re not going to throw water on me every time, are you?’ I finally ask with a forced chuckle.

  Once again, he reveals his devilishly sexy smirk, those shrewd eyes assessing me as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. ‘We’ll see.’ He winks, and before I have time to catch my breath, he vanishes in a haze of blue.

  We stroll in comfortable silence towards a lone building surrounded by overgrown grass. Every few minutes, my eyes irritatingly shift to peek at Milo. I think I’m admiring the way he looks, but then find myself trying to see the inner workings of his mind, how he works. Surely, those powerful strides, that steady gaze, and those incinerating eyes aren’t natural; even here in Coldivor. And that ever present promise that he’s more than meets the eye; like the breath-taking view from the top of a cliff, turned upside down, if you step too far off the edge.

  I almost squeal when he catches me staring at him and yank my gaze away, but before I do, I’m sure I see the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.

  We come to a low metal gate which seems pointless, as it is not attached to anything, though I suppose it does mark the entrance to the café, a path of shorter and slightly brown grass leading to its doorstep. We follow the trail and Milo pulls open the door. I step in.

  It’s dark and my eyes take a minute to adjust. One small window in the back of the building lets in a few rays of daylight and candles hang from holders in the ceiling. The piano plays itself: a soft and slow melody. Two men sit engrossed in conversation at a dark wooden booth and a lady on the counter picks her teeth, swatting away flashes of light which I assume are the Coldivor form of flies. Besides them there are one or two other solitary customers at small, rickety tables.

  ‘This way,’ Milo murmurs, and I follow him to a booth round the corner from the serving station. Here sit Howard and Yvane, sipping on blue drinks and talking quietly to one another.

  ‘At last.’ Yvane enthuses.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Milo says, sliding in next to her. ‘Somebody was sulking because we don’t have hairdryers here.’

  ‘Somebody threw ice cold water on me!’ I remind him, taking the seat opposite.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ Milo murmurs, expertly moving his leg as I go to kick it. He raises an eyebrow. A challenge.

  ‘O…kay,’ Yvane adds slowly, ‘well, welcome to Shebbles.’ She sweeps her arms out to the side in a grand, over-the-top sort of way.

  ‘Thanks. It’s great,’ I lie.

  Milo snorts as he tries to suppress a laugh.

  ‘I’m not an idiot.’ Yvane shakes her head. ‘I know it’s not much but that’s what makes it the best place for us to talk without fear of others listening in.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Milo nods, though I still see a hint of humour in his eyes.

  Yvane seems to take the lead as she clasps her hands together and leans in. ‘So, here is the situation: you are impersonating the most powerful and most protected person in our realm.’ Her expression is firm, ‘It’s imperative that absolutely no one knows you aren’t her outside the four of us.’

  ‘Yes.’ I sit up straighter. ‘Why is that?’

  The three of them exchange looks and I find myself concerned.

  ‘The reason Lexovia is the most protected,’ Howard takes over, sliding his beverage to one side and also leaning closer, ‘is because she is our greatest weapon. With the Court guiding her after the Elenfar we have a good chance of destroying the Vildacruz and reclaiming our land.’

  I vaguely remember Imogen mentioning the Elenfar: some sort of ceremony that grants Lexovia the powers of her forefathers, but I’m still confused.

  ‘Exactly, if she’s so important, isn’t it better that someone, at least the Courts of Coldivor, know she’s missing?’

  ‘No one can know.’ Milo’s tone is grim. ‘It’s too risky. If the Vildacruz learn she’s gone, they’ll know we’re vulnerable. It’ll only be a matter of time until they attack the court. Then they’ll kill Lex as soon as she comes through the portal, and the rest of us,’ he shrugs, ‘the rest of us are just food.’

  I gulp, creeping towards the edge of my seat. ‘Well, isn’t there some way we can speak to the court without the Vildacruz hearing?’ I hiss.

  I feel like a sitting duck out here in the open, powerless and hunted. I try to remind myself that Lexovia is protected, that her face is unknown to the Vildacruz. Apparently, only a few have ever
seen her and those who have, supposedly, haven’t lived to tell others what she looks like. But I’m not convinced. The court should know I’m not her. They should be extra vigilant and more prepared. It seems unfair for entire empires to be destroyed because we didn’t tell them their secret weapon was actually an imitation – a toy.

  ‘There’s more.’ Milo states.

  My eyes widen.

  ‘You would be the first one the Vildacruz kill,’ his eyes meet mine; ‘You’re more important to them than anyone else here.’

  My brow creases. ‘What do you mean?’

  Milo returns his stare to the table, drumming his fingers on its edge, ‘There is a myth. The C.P. myth; a rumour that would turn you into their most valuable target.’

  ‘Go on,’ I urge. Neither of them respond as I glance anxiously from one to the other.

  Finally, Yvane straightens. ‘I’m sure you remember how, in your darkest hour of need, Lexovia appeared and saved you,’ she says. I nod, willing her to continue. ‘Well, it’s believed that in times of such stress C.P’s, or rather, counterparts, are more connected than at any other time; so connected that a magical counterpart could transfer their powers into their Corporeal other before passing on.’

  ‘Passing on,’ I repeat, ‘as in, before they die?’

  Yvane nods. ‘Meaning that if anything happens to Lexovia, you might inherit her abilities, making you the threat to the Vildacruz.’

  I search my memory, trying to pinpoint exactly what I know about the Vildacruz: an evil group of creatures that destroyed the Elentri and wish to rule Coldivor. Also, something about ‘feasting season’, though I recall not asking anymore questions on that one.

  ‘So…’ but my voice falters; I don’t know what to say.

  ‘So, if the Vildacruz find you, they will certainly,’ Yvane swirls a batch of words around in her mouth, ‘destroy you.’ I would have preferred a different word.

  ‘That way they can be sure that Lexovia won’t transfer her powers to you if they defeat her,’ Yvane says. ‘Your identity must be hidden as much for your sake as ours. If the Vildacruz get wind of this, you have no power to protect yourself and we don’t have enough power to protect ourselves.’